


Yours Is No Disgrace

by Zekkass



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Angst, Character Development, Comfort, Depression, Forced Relationship, Gestalt (Transformers), Grief/Mourning, Kissing, Learning Disabilities, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts, Transformers Spark Merges
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-23 06:59:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14327085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zekkass/pseuds/Zekkass
Summary: Directly after the events on Archa Seven, Ultra Magnus is deciding how to discipline two truant and grieving students. One possibility is expulsion, except that Sentinel's creator has a spot on the Council, and would object.Yet they both share the crime of Elita-One's death equally, and something must be done.





	Yours Is No Disgrace

**Author's Note:**

> Important!
> 
> \- Heed the tags! Trigger warnings are all over the place, as I wrote this as a direct way to explore my own depression and grief. It contains one of the most honest scenes I've ever written when it comes to how bleak you can feel down there.
> 
> \- My characterization of Sentinel is a hybrid where I'm trying to stick to canon, while also trying to see how he could work as a partner to Optimus without, y'know, making Optimus miserable for the rest of his life. I hope it fits!
> 
> \- The ending is open, and I apologize for that. I cut it where I did as if I settled in to write more, I wouldn't have finished this for months, and honestly, I'd prefer to return to this with a fresh slate, a part two instead of a chapter two, so to speak. No promises, though!
> 
> [My commission are open!](http://zekkass.tumblr.com/post/170873162645/fanfiction-commissions)

In a room such as the Council's meeting room, one grows accustomed to the incessant buzzing of comms. Ultra Magnus' plating fairly vibrates as conversation happens around him.

Notably, none of it is directed to him.

The topic today precludes involving him in the discussion, seeing as he's the focus of the various plans, the push and pull of agendas jockeying for position. And he has made it known that approaching him directly in Council with favors or suggestions is not to his taste.

He tolerates the buzz, looking from Perceptor to Proteus to Alpha Trion, then to Highbrow. It was _his_ failure - in a tangential way - that led to this situation. Improper cordoning off of derelict Decepticon ships containing dangerous amounts of unstable energon.

But then, the Academy's teachers failed to produce cadets who would obey the rules, which lies under his jurisdiction.

A slight tilt of Highbrow's helm, acknowledgment of the focus and the potential blame. Highbrow won't be an obstacle, so Ultra Magnus shifts his focus to Proteus.

Proteus isn't paying any attention to him, instead leaning towards Alpha Trion and hissing something inaudible from this distance. An unlikely duo, those two - but Proteus isn't in favor, at the moment.

Ultra Magnus raises a hand, judging the moment to be right. The buzzing halts, and everyone focuses on him.

"I bring this meeting to order," he says, the only formality before business. "Our only item is the question of the fates of the cadets Optimus and Sentinel, which would not be a Council decision except for the insistence of Councilor Proteus."

Why leave it unsaid? His policy has been to address influences upfront, to prevent the kind of nepotism that Councilor Proteus seeks to include in their ranks. It's not a secret that Proteus favors his creation.

It does speak to Councilor Proteus' influence with the Crafters that this meeting was convened at all.

Ultra Magnus goes on: "The punishment for defying quarantine rules cannot be waived if we expect the citizens to obey them. Additionally, we cannot ignore the regretful loss of Elita-One. Councilor Proteus, something _must_ be done."

"And I will not have my son expelled from the Academy after being dragged out on a joyride instigated _by_ Elita-One. He should not be held at fault for her actions!"

The veracity of this is doubtful, but - very well. That's the angle he chooses?

"You have an example in Optimus. Expel him, he's no great loss. Let Sentinel stay. Simple! Everybody walks away happy."

Proteus is misinformed, which is pleasing to learn.

"No," Ultra Magnus says, keeping his optics on Proteus as he gestures towards Perceptor. "That is not acceptable. Perceptor has the details of what will happen to Optimus and Sentinel in lieu of being expelled."

"No," Proteus says, a soft word. The only protest from him before he falls silent as Perceptor begins to speak.

"Both Optimus and Sentinel are acceptable candidates for Experimental Plan 47A, adjunct to the process involved in 40J, but lacking the terrestrial flight systems, replacing them instead with interstellar flight systems. Their frametypes are close to the Type 4 truck configurations, and examinations of their scans confirm that they have the structure necessary for the additions required by - "

Perceptor drones on, his tendency to offer detail a weapon in and of itself. Proteus' optics have gained that glazed tint as he omits the details - not that he's ignoring Perceptor entirely. The word 'candidate' must have his attention, as well as 'additions'.

No one interrupts.

Perceptor comes to the point quickly, within kliks of starting: "Additional testing will be necessary to confirm the compatibility of their emotional components but initial findings suggest that both Optimus and Sentinel are ideal candidates for the creation of a new two unit gestalt."

"No," Proteus says with nanoseconds, then bursts out: "You want to turn my son into an _experiment?_ Over _this?_ Absolutely not!"

Perceptor blinks at him with that pitch-perfect innocence.

"They will remain in the Academy," Ultra Magnus says. "And will be able to resume training as they're able. They'd be guaranteed rank and a position in the Elite Guard." Thus fulfilling all of Proteus' ambitions and aspirations for his son, who has _not_ demonstrated any real skill in any test given to him.

"But he'll be tied to this - this - "

"He'll become part of a special unit," Ultra Magnus says. "Either suggest something useful or retract your objection."

Silence at last.

Proteus' hands are visible, digging into his arms as he obviously frantically thinks for something that will sway them all - but there is nothing, because Proteus isn't a total fool. He must know Sentinel lacks the skills necessary to attain any rank in the meritocracy of the Elite Guard.

He must know that Ultra Magnus wields ultimate authority in this council, and that if he wants to defy him, he needs to bring more than petty objections and threats.

"Then we are agreed," Ultra Magnus says when the silence stretches too far. "Perceptor, you are authorized to use Optimus and Sentinel for this gestalt project. This meeting is concluded."

//

Every step towards Ultra Magnus' office feels like punishment. The Magnus' staff barely acknowledges him, reinforcing how disconnected he feels.

Elita-One is dead.

Optimus couldn't look at her batchmates during the funeral. He hasn't been able to look at anyone since they returned to Cybertron - except for Sentinel, and he's too angry to talk.

They all know whose fault it is that she's dead.

Here he is, before the door to Ultra Magnus' office, certain that this is when he's to be pronounced guilty and sent away from Cybertron for good. Sent to a distant outpost, to an energon farm, to the Stockades...

Somewhere he belongs.

If Elita were here, she'd elbow him, drag him into the conversation.

Footsteps sound behind him, and Sentinel moves to stand next to him.

So he was called too. Optimus can't muster a greeting, nothing more than looking at his arm and leg to identify him and away. 

"Optimus," Sentinel says, and he claps a hand on his shoulder. "Hopefully this is the last time I'll ever see you. The Magnus should expel you, and then we can all move on."

Those words are rehearsed. Optimus can't look at him.

"What, no final words for an old friend?"

Sentinel blames him for her death. As he should.

"Be that way. I wish I'd never met you, Optimus. You're - "

The door opens, cutting Sentinel off before he can go on. Optimus moves, finding that now that the path is open, he wants this over with. He wants to be sent wherever he's going to be sent.

"Hey - wait!"

The Magnus' office is the same as the last time he was in: brightly-lit, a neutral blue, and with a tall, imposing desk that matches Ultra Magnus.

Optimus stops before it and waits, unable to look up at the Magnus. Elita-One is dead and he's at fault.

Sentinel's saying something to the Magnus, but Optimus doesn't understand the words. Guilt overwhelms him, the weight of it pressing down on him as he waits. Everything outside of the Magnus' judgment - doesn't matter.

"Optimus," Ultra Magnus finally speaks.

"Sir," he says, unable to look up.

"The two of you are to retain your standings at the Academy."

 _"What?!_ This is - that's not possible! How come he gets to stay when he's the whole reason Elita's gone?"

Is _this_ his punishment? To stay and pretend that nothing changed?

"Both of you are equally at fault for the events that took place on Archa Seven."

Optimus finally looks at the Magnus.

"Sir," he says, and stops.

"Not one of you turned back from your excursion," Ultra Magnus says, his optics utterly cold. "Not _one_ of you turned back from the Decepticon warship you stumbled upon. We are lucky that only one of you perished - but this must not be allowed to happen again."

A pause, but not one that invites them to speak up.

"The both of you are required to submit yourself to Perceptor for inclusion in the gestalt project. Failure to comply will result in summary dismissal from the Academy. Am I understood?"

"Sir," Optimus says with Sentinel echoing. Perceptor, gestalt project...they're to become science experiments. That's the intended punishment, then, even if staying at the Academy will hurt him more.

"Perceptor expects you within half a cycle. Dismissed."

It's not until the door closes behind them that Sentinel begins to speak, outrage and blame and - nothing Optimus can listen to. He keeps walking, gets yelled at for ignoring Sentinel, and keeps walking until he finds the road and transforms, driving.

Sentinel's angry, and Optimus can almost find it in himself to be angry as well - it wasn't his fault. It wasn't Sentinel's fault that Elita-One is dead. _Optimus_ missed when her life was in the balance, he failed, he should have the sole punishment.

But he doesn't. And Sentinel nearly rams him when he catches up to him.

"Slow down, idiot!"

Optimus does, just enough so Sentinel can pull up alongside him.

"What do you think they're going to do to us?" Sentinel asks - once he's been angry, and outraged, and run through his complaints he begins to ask questions. It's happened before, usually around surprise assignments. Optimus used to enjoy speculating with him, or filling him in on details he'd missed in his outrage.

That was a lifetime ago.

"I don't know," Optimus says. He won't speculate on his punishment.

"Oh come on, he said gestalt, that probably means _something."_

"Check your language files," Optimus says after a pause. Hadn't Sentinel paid attention in classes? Hadn't - no, of course he hadn't.

"What does an 'organized whole' have to do with anything?"

Optimus lets that hang between them, unable to do what he is expected to do. It's wrong without Elita-One there to chime in, it's wrong - 

"What, are you sore over what I said earlier? Forget it already! We're friends, aren't we? And once we get through whatever dumb experiments Perceptor wants we'll get back to the Academy and graduate with honors and join the guard. That's the plan, remember?"

It's scary, how fast Sentinel can change on him. Optimus grips that fear and uses it to pull ahead. It's too much for him, too much grief, too much pain, and he really needs to find a hole he can climb into where he can lie and be nothing.

"Hey!"

Optimus turns off his audials, turns off everything except what he needs to drive safely. He gets rammed several times, bumps that wind up Sentinel more than they diffuse anything - but he can't, he can't.

It only stops when they reach the small, squat building that is the entrance to the underground complexes that form the science division's headquarters. Optimus has heard a hundred horror stories about this place, in and out of his textbooks.

He transforms and restores his sensors, hearing nothing but Sentinel's brakes for a moment.

"Optimus?"

"Let's get this over with," Optimus says, walking inside. Sentinel joins him - once again moving to be next to him.

The interior of the science division is white and gray, the mech posted at the entrance so absorbed in multiple datapads it only points them in the direction they're meant to go in. It isn't until they stand in a small lift with Perceptor that it feels like they've arrived.

"So what are we actually going to do here?" Sentinel asks Perceptor. "What are we here for?"

"For the initial process the two of you are going to be scanned, then reframed. Once your spark has accepted the alterations we can begin to move onto the primary phase of the experiment."

"Wait, wait, back up. _What_ alterations?"

"Did Ultra Magnus not brief you on the particulars of the experiment?"

"No!"

It feels like they're talking about someone else, not them. It feels like he's only an observer.

"The two of you are candidates to become gestalt."

Will Sentinel admit his ignorance? Will Perceptor tell them everything? Optimus feels distant from his own frame, his curiosity barely part of him.

"This of course involves testing your spark compatibility, introducing the gestalt frame, and creating the gestalt state that will enable the two of you to become one unit."

Sentinel's speechless, his mouth hanging open. The lift opens into a white hallway with bright lights. Optimus simply follows Perceptor.

"I am - wait! - I am not going to - "

"Ultra Magnus informed you that this is the only way to retain your position correct? The alternative is to be expelled from the Academy and assigned to repair crews. Stand there and hold still."

Optimus obeys. After a klik, Sentinel obeys as well. They're in another small room, facing a row of scanner banks, and they both know scanner procedures from medical exams: hold still. Don't blink. Let the deep-scan work.

Sentinel will be forced into his spark.

It still doesn't feel real.

The scan ends all too soon, and one of Perceptor's assistants - where did they come from? - leads him away into surgery. Optimus barely processes it, obeying instructions near mindlessly.

He doesn't feel anything.

Becoming gestalt means sharing everything that makes him an individual. _Everything._

The modifications to his frame take, he adjusts to the additional weight and slightly altered shape, doesn't ask to see what they've done to him. He'd led away, to a room where Sentinel's waiting. The instructions are simple: they're supposed to merge.

Then they're alone.

It's more like a cell than a room: a low-set berth on one side of the room. A chair. A low-set table. Everything is a pale gray color. If there's a camera it's well-hidden.

"Let's get this over with," Sentinel says with a growl, and before Optimus can really look at him to see what they changed, his chest-plates fold and slide back and his spark is there, a vibrant blue light spilling from his core.

Abruptly the haze Optimus had been moving in snaps away.

He is _here_ and he is _changed_ and they expect him to share his spark with Sentinel, who has never been - 

There's no choice, no chance to reexamine his friendship with Sentinel, if it could be called that by anyone but Sentinel. There's no time.

His windows push open, plating sliding before he exposes his own spark, submitting again to this punishment. He steps forward, not making Sentinel do it as he brings their sparks into contact.

There's at first the buzz, before the connection opens up, their sparks sharing on levels beyond any conscious thought. No programming can intercede here, no orderly emotional tagging on files, nothing but what they feel in their sparks.

Sentinel's grief meets his own, but it's not the same emotion, not quite. Nothing fits easily as their surfaces touch: there's no guilt, not from Sentinel, and there's instead anger that fits perfectly against the guilt that covers everything in Optimus.

 _You deserve it,_ a thought that Optimus agrees with, _Why are you shutting down?_ Nothing Optimus understands. Sentinel is staring at their sparks, where there's a bright line delineating where they've met.

It's not even a proper merge yet. To become a gestalt they're going to have to sink deeper than that, erase the line. Optimus' frame automatically obeys the punishment, pushing them closer together - Sentinel's frame clanks as it hits the wall, its own imperative to step back, say that's enough.

Even on the surface it's easy to tell that Sentinel's a coward.

 _How are you - why!_ Sentinel's thoughts are desperate, his mouth moving without anything coming out as they sink closer together. Now there's the hint of grief, fear loud, masked by his anger - 

Optimus stills as something shifts inside of him, disturbing the nothing that keeps him thinking, keeps him detached.

 _Stop being dead!_ Sentinel thinks at him, the imperative as much a question as a demand. _I can't do this with an empty!_

 _Elita's dead,_ Optimus answers, his optics closing so he doesn't have to do anything but feel. His hand presses to the wall, pinning Sentinel in place as their sparks do more than touch, but actually share.

Fear rips through him as vibrant as Sentinel feels it, a piercing panic that's growing louder as this - this empty with Optimus' face keeps forcing its way into him. Guilt is everywhere, of course it's his fault that she's dead, she's gone, she's dead and they failed to save her, his fault he missed, his fault they were there, he wants to trade places with her like he deserves. Ultra Magnus shouldn't have done this he should have terminated him on the spot, no trial needed, he'll do whatever's required of him - 

_Stop!_

If they stop they'll lose everything that matters, lose the chance to ever rise in the ranks and take what belongs to them, what they deserve - 

Something's hitting his shoulder, outside of the merge.

Flashes of Elita: yellow and bright and angry and willing to talk to him as if he had been a friend instead of a stranger or a superior, who had told him what to do without making it feel bad. Someone who had pushed him into trying new things, into saying hi to more mechs, who had been so brave and smart and bound for great things.

Flashes of Optimus: the awkward smile he'd given him when he'd tried to be friendly, the way it had been cute in ways no one was ready to understand. How he'd been willing to help, always, even if he was a stick in the mud when it came to rules and going to recharge during curfew. How he'd never turned Sentinel away, always wanted to join in when he was invited.

It goes both ways, jams in ugly patterns when it clashes with self-perception.

Flashes of Sentinel: loud, arrogant, convinced he'd be something. Exasperating and sometimes genuinely terrifying, the way he could discard someone for cruel reasons. Surprisingly, awkwardly considerate. Clumsy. _Clumsy._

And now Optimus can see that there's genuinely something missing in Sentinel, something that lets him look at something less than him and feel something for it. The will to feel that way, the will to be considerate - gone, unless he fakes it, forces it when he decides it matters.

But that's wrong, because Optimus is the defective one, who feels too much, cares about other mechs too much, who really needs to stop that and focus on his own priorities first.

Is it wrong?

He'll always be taken advantage of! He needs someone who can set him straight!

But is it wrong?

Of course!

It's wrong because it's different from Sentinel, foreign to his world-view, nothing he can understand - except here he has to see, to understand that it's okay to trust other mechs. Their differences don't mean they're enemies, competition, it means - 

Something hits his shoulder again, something jars their merge.

His spark feels hot, full and fragile. They realign, bodies moving together - then apart, as Sentinel's the coward, running from too much contact.

That sparks anger, anger that touches on the armor that's settled deeper around Optimus: he'll take the guilt away from Sentinel, that deep core that they can only touch from a merge this deep, he'll make it his own, he'll protect himself from grief by using it to stop himself.

How can he ever join the Guard when he already failed to protect someone important?

But Sentinel's guilt doesn't come, doesn't get to be cast aside when it's so deep. He wants it gone, he can't let go of it, they're locked in a match where no one can win.

There's a tearing pain - and they're apart.

Optimus falls on the floor with a clang, chest-plating closing automatically as his spark aches, recovering from being torn away. It's minor, it's mild, he'll be fine - 

Optimus doesn't open his optics, too tired to get up and face anything.

There's another clang as Sentinel hits the floor, and another as Sentinel slams his fist against the wall.

"You're a maniac," Sentinel hisses. "Some kind of moronic - idiot! Are you even listening? Hey!"

Optimus is, but he can't turn on his optics. The ache fades in his spark as he slips further down.

The impact catches him by surprise, pain across his face as his frame skids a little. Sentinel's fist - hits him again, then again. Then stops, and grips his neck, lifting him up a little.

"Turn your optics on!" Sentinel shouts, shaking him. "You have to listen to me!"

He can't, even if he could find the will to want to.

"Fragging - you can't self-terminate on me! We have to do this fragging assignment together!"

Because he can't care about anyone as a person - can he? Optimus can't remember. Sentinel's spark is too far away.

Somehow his chest-plates are pried open. Somehow there's something against his spark, pushing into it again - and this time he's the coward, the one sinking further and further away from his duties.

_No! From me!_

Sentinel's too loud to ignore.

_You can't die too!_

Fear leaks between them, of being ignored, of being alone, of losing someone else, of having to pretend everything's normal. Fear builds, something cracks - 

And Optimus' frame convulses as pain lances through everything, systems booting up, emotional banks working overtime to process - everything in his spark.

_Why were those off?_

Optimus can't answer, can only grip Sentinel's hand - when did he grab it? - as pain overwhelms him, brings him back to the present, makes him look Sentinel in the optics and - 

And what?

 _Don't you dare!_ Sentinel says, and Optimus' focus snaps back.

His systems had been shutting off because he'd wanted them off. He'd turned his emotional banks off himself, let himself slip away. Sentinel had...

Their merge had saved him.

Or Perceptor would have noticed one of his test subjects deactivating themselves and would have brought him back.

Optimus doesn't let go of Sentinel, too scared to let go.

His spark hurts. They're still merged.

"Listen to me," Sentinel says, and Optimus does. "You are _not allowed to die! Ever!_ We're going to make this gestalt thing work and you're going to be _my_ partner, okay?"

Partner?

"Yes, shut up! You're five kinds of slagged up and - " Sentinel stops, because what if someone's listening.

But he finishes his sentence in private: _And I don't want to become a laughingstock._

When had Sentinel realized - ?

"When you showed me!" Sentinel snaps. "It's awful! So you're going to help me, and I'm going to help you. Got it?"

Optimus nods, mute. But Sentinel knows - knows he's feeling gratitude. This is something he can focus on and succeed at. And when had he started wanting _that_ kind of purpose?

Except that he knows: sparks work subconsciously, just like emotional banks and any subconscious routines. When he'd been totally focused on - what he'd been focused on, the rest of him had been working. Thinking. Feeling.

And Sentinel forced him to realign himself, boot systems up so they could work, and he - he _wants_ to protect someone and succeed and be useful and be worthy of Elita's memory.

"That was awful," Sentinel mutters. "Are you going to do anything stupid if I get out of this merge? I want to be alone in my head for a while. Ugh."

Had Sentinel always cared about him? It's hard to tell if his initial conclusion was correct or not, if they've influenced each other so much - 

"Shut _up_ and stop thinking!" Sentinel snaps, and this time they come out of the merge slowly, with their sparks settling in their chests. There's no pain, only a sense of being alone.

Optimus looks at where he's holding Sentinel's hand and doesn't stop.

"Thank you," he says, so soft he can barely hear the words.

"Whatever. Let's report to Perceptor and get out of here before they do anything else."

//

The report to Perceptor goes smoothly, details blurring together in Optimus' mind. He thinks Perceptor had pushed for them to become gestalt that very night, but Sentinel had protested, and something must have been apparent in their conditions that Perceptor had relented.

Sentinel's grip is tight and secure and he doesn't even try to let go, even when they reach the surface after a too-long ride in the lift. They walk the distance to the Academy, taking the side paths so they don't have to transform, too drained to speak or do more than navigate.

Or so it goes in Optimus' memories. It's all hazy when he tries to piece together the rest of it in the morning, and he shifts in the berth, bumping into Sentinel's leg with an awkward clang.

"Mnrgf," Sentinel says without waking up.

"Sorry," Optimus whispers, and he has to cover his face when he realizes how deep that word goes.

His systems are handing him reports, mechanical relief that he'd been able to recharge for so long. The strain on his emotional banks had been dangerously high, his memory banks struggling to record anything after the merges, and there's other damage besides.

It's all mended now, he's back to normal, except that everything is different and the processing necessary for him to adapt to the changes will take days he doesn't have.

Still - he feels better this morning. Less like a drone, more like a person. The guilt isn't so devastating, and he's - he's got room to be grateful to Sentinel for helping him.

Optimus raises his hands just to look at them, and this time the flash of Elita slipping beyond his reach isn't so strong. She's gone, he's not, and now - he turns his head, looking at Sentinel.

Sentinel's a messy sleeper, mouth open, the sounds of his systems louder because of that. His limbs are splayed out, his arms above his head, fingers shoved against the wall. Optimus carefully sits up, resting his hands in his lap as he just takes in the sight.

There's a lot about Sentinel he still doesn't understand, and normally he'd let that go. He's never been the kind of mech who pries into the affairs of others without good reason.

Now he has no choice. Now that he's thinking _and_ feeling, he approaches the concept of gestalt, tries to apply it to Sentinel. Their sparks had touched, they had merged, and then - they'd done it twice.

But that had been different.

Optimus reaches out, putting a hand against Sentinel's chest, the motion slow to prevent any noise. He can feel thrumming, the deep rumble of a powerful engine at rest.

He's faster than Sentinel in a race, but Sentinel's stronger.

Some new noise emits from Sentinel's mouth, and Optimus snatches his hand back. Sentinel's optics flick on, and he's up.

"What are you doing here?"

Optimus doesn't answer, hands in his lap again as he sits quietly, waiting for Sentinel's memorybanks to catch up with him.

"... Did we _do_ something?" Sentinel asks, screwing up his face as he sits up - and ah. There. The moment of recollection.

"We should report to Perceptor as soon as we can," Optimus says, deciding that he doesn't want to hear Sentinel stick his foot in his mouth. "Come on."

Out of the berth, almost out of the room - 

"We need to refuel first," Sentinel says.

If this were any other day Optimus would have thought of that first, after spending a cycle studying and preparing for classes. If nothing had happened, he would have -

Sentinel takes his hand and drags him out the door.

"Quit spacing out," Sentinel says. "It's weird."

What does he say to that? How does he respond to that? Optimus grips his hand, matching his pace instead.

"Alright," he says. "Fuel, then we'll report to Perceptor."

The dispensers aren't far, but their timing is terrible: there are other students around. Sentinel stops in his tracks, and now it's Optimus' turn to drag him along.

All they have to do is get fuel, drink the fuel, and leave. They don't have to talk to anyone. Except that Sentinel's trying to jerk his hand out of his, and - now things are wrong.

He can hear the hush in the room, the buzz of comms, the uneasy rumble of Sentinel's engines, and he's standing there, the center of gawking. They both are.

Sentinel keeps moving, shoving two cubes under the flow of fuel and stomping out - "Optimus, come _on!"_ \- he calls, and Optimus follows, paralysis broken.

They stop in a small alcove down the corridor, and Sentinel takes a big gulp of his energon before speaking.

"Those losers don't know what they're missing out on."

"What?" Optimus asks, taking the cube when it's shoved into his hands.

"We're going to graduate, become Minors, then Primes, and then we're going to become the Magnus. You'd think those losers would realize that they should be sucking up to us instead of acting like we've got cosmic rust, but whatever. It's their fault for not recognizing greatness."

Before, Optimus would have written this all off as delusions of grandeur, rolled his optics, and tried to move the topic back to something within the realm of reality.

Now he knows that these beliefs are fundamental to Sentinel, that they define how he sees the world and himself.

"I don't think Ultra Magnus is going anywhere," Optimus says instead of mocking or ignoring Sentinel.

"He'll step down when I'm ready," Sentinel says, waving a hand dismissively. "I bet he can't wait to take a permanent vacation."

"I don't know," Optimus says. "How are you so sure we're going to even become Primes?"

"We're that good," Sentinel says firmly.

_Then why couldn't they rescue Elita?_

Optimus looks into his cube, closes his optics. He can hear her voice, watch her falling out of reach.

"Optimus," Sentinel says. "Stop doing that. It's annoying."

"Sorry," Optimus murmurs, shaking his head. He takes his drink, drains it. Better to have the fuel down so they can get going. "I think you're right about one thing," he says.

_"One?"_

"We're going into the Elite Guard."

"Of course we are! ... Why do you think so?"

Sentinel's leaning closer, optics bright with curiosity. Optimus sets his cube down.

"We're going to be gestalt. The only places gestalts have are in construction or the military, and we're still getting an Academy training. Construction bots don't get into the Academy. So - "

"We're going to become the first gestalt Primes," Sentinel says, nodding happily.

"If they give experiments ranks," Optimus says softly.

"What! No way. There's no way they'd treat us like - like - "

"Tools?"

"Yeah!"

"I don't know," Optimus says, even though he does. Sentinel doesn't listen during the history classes, and he has to be given the simplest renditions of the stories so the lessons stick. He's so self-centered it boggles the mind that he can function, let alone keep his grades up - so he'd missed any of the nuance, when it came to the war.

The Autobots have created gestalt units before, and other, weirder things. So have the Decepticons. And while it wasn't like the Academy's archives had anything approaching complete records when it came to the weapons on both sides, he wasn't sparked yesterday.

"Optimus," Sentinel says, elbowing him. "You're doing it again."

"We'd better finish up and report to Perceptor," Optimus says. Trying to tell Sentinel anything will be an exercise in futility, and...besides.

Even though it matters, because they're becoming gestalt, in a way it doesn't. It's not like they can do anything to change it.

//

"The software will guide your transformation sequence the first dozen times. It can be refreshed after that, but you should have it memorized and added to your repertoire after that. Run it now."

They stand next to each other in a large room, on a raised platform surrounded by sensors and other monitors. Perceptor is in front of them, a few steps away. He's explained what will happen to them, in detail.

The sequence ends with their sparks together, their frames united as one.

Sentinel looks at him; Optimus looks back and nods.

By now the details mean nothing to them, just noise against the enormity of what's about to happen to them.

The sequence is wired to fire off a signal, so they can't fall out of sync. Optimus starts it, frame pushing off the ground as it shifts, folding and unfolding in a new configuration that feels dizzying to attempt manually. What should become wheel wells or headlights don't.

His frame collapses and expands at the same time, meeting the edges of Sentinel's frame. They fuse along new seams, nanites even changing their colors so the seams aren't as obvious.

One moment he's stunned by the transformation. The next his spark meets Sentinel's, then gives way/pushes in as they're forced into a total merge, their spark chambers rearranging themselves so there's only room for the enlarged spark of a combiner.

If they weren't compatible this would be the point of the process where their sparks would reject the entire sequence and they'd fall apart.

The merge is total: identity falls away as space disappears. Every jagged line, incompatible emotion, disagreement, misunderstanding - holes in a new personality, fracture lines where this new person will fall apart.

Optimus/Sentinel stands on the platform alone, studying his/their hands, flexing new plating.

"Stability check," Perceptor says from nearby. "Can you speak?"

"Yes." His/their voice is deeper, pitched towards older harmonies that reflect his/their experience and size.

He/they _need_ to be stable, so he/they can succeed and become Magnus and recover from a mistake. Guilt rips into him/them at the thought, redoubled and painful because they're so close, Sentinel doesn't understand why Optimus can't just let go of it, it's over, she's gone - 

Fracture creeps up on them as Optimus tries to accept that Sentinel can't understand without getting introspective in ways he's not comfortable with, and Sentinel wants to know what _that_ means, and - 

This has to work.

Sentinel doesn't know if a failure here means they'll be expelled or if they'll get a second chance, and if Optimus doesn't know - he doesn't - they need to make this work, they have to _be._

Sheer determination overwhelms them both, born of Sentinel's ambitions, enough to postpone the argument and submerge them both.

It's like dreaming, or turning off emotional subsystems, except that's not it at all because emotions are so vibrant, redoubled through two systems.

Perceptor wants him/them to move. Alright.

Whoever designed this program figured that out, motion helps distract him/them from his/their thoughts. Forget arguments, can he/they figure out the new length of his limbs?

Two laps around the platform, then around the room. Can he demonstrate the mobility of his arms? His legs? His plating, his audials?

"What's next, show off my glossae?"

Clumsy, irritated, a thought from the fracture. They have to keep quiet and obey Perceptor until he lets them go.

"No," Perceptor says, making a note on the datapad he's holding. "Are you experiencing any pain?"

"My frame reports no pain," he says cautiously.

"Is there pain elsewhere?" Perceptor asks, looking up at his face.

They _have to make this work -_

Perceptor makes a note.

"End the merge," he says.

_Did they fail -_

Optimus lands on the floor with a heavy clang, frame pulling itself back together, and he pushes his hands against the floor, filled with a desperate question that isn't wholly his own - 

"Exceptional control and focus for a first time," Perceptor pronounces, and the relief that floods Optimus still isn't his own.

He lies limply on the floor, venting softly now, aware of Sentinel's arm over his leg.

They did it.

Perceptor approaches and offers a hand to Sentinel.

"Report to the scanners, then return to your personal quarters," he says as he helps them both up. "Report here tomorrow at the same time."

Optimus nods, but he's looking at Sentinel.

//

They aren't allowed to leave the complex, instead returning to that little cell they'd merged in, their new personal quarters. Here Sentinel throws himself into the berth, and Optimus just leans against the wall.

"That was so freaking weird," Sentinel says, words muffled by how he's pushed his face into the berth.

Optimus silently agrees, rubbing his face. That hadn't been a merge. He understands now why Perceptor hadn't told them much about what to expect.

"We have to practice," Sentinel says a klik later. He's rolled over, and he's staring at the ceiling.

Optimus comes over to the berth, sitting on it.

"What do you mean?"

"We fell apart early," Sentinel says. "What good's a gestalt that falls apart before it can do anything? I'm not getting thrown out of the Academy because you can't stop feeling guilty for more than a klik."

"Perceptor said we did exceptionally well," Optimus says, deciding not to focus on the barb.

"'For a first time.' That's an excuse! We have to do better every time."

Two things slide into focus: Sentinel had been afraid of becoming gestalt. Now that fear was either fueling his determination to succeed, or, the other option: he wasn't afraid at all anymore.

"I don't think it's a good idea," Optimus says finally.

"Well why not?"

"We might hurt ourselves."

"So?" Sentinel sits up. "It's not like it's any different out there. They're still watching us."

"Perceptor knew what he was doing," Optimus says. "He intervened whenever we were about to..." He doesn't have words for the conflict they embodied.

"Who cares about him?" Sentinel says. "Come on, Optimus, don't be such a weenie."

His chest-plates part, and Optimus vents harshly. There's no way to turn him down without hurting him, so - he moves, straddling his hips and exposing his spark.

Anger defines Sentinel's spark when they meet this time, humiliation that burns: they weren't graceful, they barely held it together, and he was afraid of failure.

This merge is a selfish act for Sentinel: he's angry at Optimus and he can't make it go away, and they need to become gestalt.

It's a demand for help, and Optimus sighs as he rests his cheek against Sentinel's.

"We didn't mess up," Optimus murmurs, trying to show him the truth.

Sentinel wants proof, a demand rising from the fear of failure, the anger of his creator, imminent humiliation.

"The gestalt," Optimus says, putting it into words because showing him won't make it make sense. "It's still being created. You felt where it hurt, right? We - it - has to resolve those so it can be a whole person."

"That's stupid and makes no sense," Sentinel says after a moment. It's unintentional, but he shows him: the deep-rooted sense of superiority he has, alongside the deeper conviction/fear that others are better than him.

One of those contradictions that litter all of their processors, part and parcel of how their personality matrices work.

Optimus nudges at his cheek.

"There's too many of them," he explains. "The gestalt can't build a real personality if there's so many paradoxes that it falls apart. A few are okay, but we're not going to work if we can't resolve most of them. And Perceptor knows that."

It's finally making sense to Sentinel, but it isn't helping: he's realizing that Optimus is slightly annoyed, exasperated that Sentinel wasn't listening to Perceptor when he explained things.

"Whatever," Sentinel mutters without heat, but it's building, irritation - 

"Sentinel," Optimus looks him in the optics. He's making a leap in his spark, trying to build a bridge for the gestalt - and for them. He doesn't know if Sentinel will accept it, but maybe, just maybe - "You learn differently. You're good at what you do, and when you learn it, it sticks. So - let me translate?"

For a second it doesn't work at all, jamming up against Sentinel's pride and convictions.

If they weren't merged, it wouldn't ever get past that.

But they are, and Sentinel's optics widen a little, something deep within him opening up.

"It's not help," Optimus clarifies, trying to protect Sentinel's pride. "It's - "

"I'm not stupid," Sentinel says.

"You're not," Optimus agrees, and in his spark the answer is more complicated.

Sentinel jerks under him, anger flaring as they stay in the merge. Optimus holds his shoulders, trying to fix what he's inadvertently broken.

"Stop," Sentinel demands.

"This will tear the gestalt apart," Optimus says, and he leans further down, forcing the merge deeper.

It's unfair of him, it's downright cruel: Sentinel needs to resolve this jagged edge between them.

Because he _isn't_ stupid, just - different, and the way he learns and prioritizes information means that he doesn't understand things unless he chooses to take the information, and even then - 

And Optimus is arrogant and hardly smarter at all, just a patronizing aft who - 

Might be right.

Optimus closes his optics, holding Sentinel firmly as their sparks move, melding into each other like they belong, forming the gestalt without transforming.

Crucial realizations: they need each other, they fill each other's weaknesses, it goes both ways. Optimus would be a walking shell without help, Sentinel... doesn't want to admit anything. But here in the merge there is no privacy, and now he understands that they can be better together.

It's unfair, of course it is.

Optimus will give Sentinel everything he needs to gain the power he craves, and Sentinel will give Optimus the drive to be all he can be.

And - 

Here's another unwilling truth from Sentinel: he'll have to integrate Optimus' restraint, to make up for what he cannot understand.

That isn't fair either, they aren't... _bandages_ to be applied to each other, it's not like they're incomplete on their own, they don't need to be _fixed._

"I did," Optimus says, a surface level distraction as their subconscious processors put together another understanding: this is what it means to be gestalt.

They _are_ whole persons who don't need to be fixed, and they don't _need_ to be gestalt - but now that they are, they're upgrades for each other.

Like a new frame, a new set of armor, a new piece of equipment.

Sentinel's selfish happiness blooms around them as he understands Optimus as something that belongs to him, now.

And Optimus smiles, because - now there's nothing to be bitter about. Sentinel's accepting him, and he won't throw him away, and it's not -

He wants to think the word normal, but this is Sentinel's normal, to have useful friends and relationships. And as much as he's forced Sentinel to change and accept blows to his pride and sense of self, it's only fair that he change and accept - not damage, but a new understanding.

Sentinel's hand touches his back, and Optimus sighs softly as the merge continues, their sparks resonating.

"You're mine," Sentinel says, a flare of possessive satisfaction.

"I'm your partner," Optimus says, and it's close enough that Sentinel kisses him.

Optimus returns it at first, then jerks, staring at him.

Now? Here? They're not - that was - 

Unbidden, their past histories with interfacing and attractions flow through their sparks, and Sentinel's still enjoying that possessive flare enough to keep a tight grip on Optimus, preventing him from refusing the information.

Then it filters through that Elita had them both, and _that_ sets off a new round of anger and grief and guilt and if not for the merge there would be shouting - 

She hadn't been a possession, and there had been the rule, right there in the Academy rules, that any cable-swapping in the dorms was permissable, provided there were no public claims. No courting, not for students.

But she had been Sentinel's, and it hurt that she felt the need to - 

That's not it at all, Optimus says through the bond, and it feels almost good to relive and share these memories: Elita propositioning him, all but demanding that she be allowed to interface with him. His clumsy acceptance, the lessons at her hands.

The revelation passes between them, that she'd treated them both the same way, because they'd both been inexperienced and had trusted her.

So now they could use those lessons on each other.

Not here, Optimus asks, and Sentinel grumbles, a little rev of his engine before he lets it go - and kisses him again.

"We don't have to swap cables," he says, meaning so much more than that, "But I get to touch you." Meaning that now that he has Optimus, and wants him, he gets to hold and kiss him.

Optimus relaxes, acceptance and desire filtering through their sparks, and they shift, closing the merge and pressing close, holding each other until they drift into recharge.

//

Figuring things out in the merge doesn't mean they form into the perfect gestalt instantly: the next few weeks pass in a haze of isolation, just them, their private quarters, and experiments with Perceptor. They hold together longer and longer, only to break apart when they get tangled in an argument. Sentinel _still_ doesn't listen to instructions, and Optimus isn't made of patience.

It doesn't help when they have to learn how to form up manually. The justification given is that it helps improve the process if they're doing it themselves, and, well.

No, Sentinel isn't coordinated. Neither is Optimus. They practice until they drop, and if there's relief in their merges from Optimus, Sentinel doesn't bring it up...much.

"What about this is _fun?"_

A dam breaking, Optimus thinks as he pushes himself up from the floor. They're in the large practice room, alone except for the constant surveillance cameras.

"It's something to focus on," Optimus says.

"It's tedious! We have a program that lets us just _do_ it! Why not use it?!"

Perceptor's reasons won't make sense to Sentinel.

Optimus takes an in-vent. "Are you okay with being a subpar gestalt?"

Sentinel glares at him, but says nothing. It's all Optimus needs to say and they both know it, and that resentment isn't easily patched.

"Let's try it again," Optimus says, because if he's learned anything from this, it's that letting something sit and fester will hurt him worse when they have to form up.

"Form up!" Sentinel barks, taking point as Optimus leaps into the air, transforming himself in now-familiar motions. All he has to do is be in this form when he reaches this position in the air, and Sentinel will meet him, should be in position, his frame ready to catch his and merge them into one form.

Should is so often the keyword, and Optimus by now half-expects to land on the floor, to have to try to talk Perceptor into switching their positions in the sequence.

This time Sentinel's there, and they stand up, individual selves fading into one.

He wants to be out of here. He wants to drive, and to see other mechs, and to be in a familiar place, and to be allowed to do more than kiss his components. His fist clenches as he looks around, impatience pushing him hard enough to override the caution rooted in the rest of him.

"I want out," he announces, in case the constant surveillance will actually react.

A door opens at the far end of the chamber, revealing Ultra Magnus, followed by Perceptor.

"What's going on?"

His thoughts run: that timing can't have been a mistake, why is Ultra Magnus here, are they about to be tested, should he salute?

He straightens up, at the ready for whatever it is Ultra Magnus wants.

Ultra Magnus walks up to him, and Perceptor joins him a moment later.

"The gestalt is mostly stable, completely coherent, and currently practicing manual assembly routines," Perceptor reports, and how short is that? All of their struggles, their own work at repairing the fractures so they could exist as one, passed off in two words - the annoyance fades as it comes, held back by discipline.

"Then it's time for them to be released to the Academy," Ultra Magnus says, optics on them.

"That could disrupt their stability."

"Think of it as a stress test," Ultra Magnus says, and he finally speaks to them directly. "What is your name?"

"That has not been assigned to them yet," Perceptor interjects, and shuts up as Ultra Magnus raises a hand.

What _is_ their name?

They shift their stance, and just the fact that they're thinking of themselves as a plurality is a bad sign. Discipline pulls him together, and - he's not Optimus, he's not Sentinel, and naming himself after anyone would be presumptuous.

So he thinks, a rush through Optimus and Sentinel's memory banks, and as far as he knows there hasn't been anyone with his name in ages, and it _is_ appropriate, for someone of their stature - 

"Alpha, sir."

Alpha, because they're the first gestalt of their kind, as far as they know. Because they're important.

"A remarkable sign," Ultra Magnus says. "Few gestalts could do that so quickly."

"It is a benefit of a two-spark gestalt," Perceptor says, and he withdraws his datapad, writing on it. "Alpha has been recorded as their designation."

"Which glyph did you use?" Ultra Magnus asks, and Perceptor traces a simple line in the air.

"Yes," Alpha says, seeing it, knowing the shape of it. There have been other, famous Alphas in the past, but no one written like that. It could sting, that it's more of a letter-shape than a name-shape, but no: it's his. "That is my name."

"Very well," Ultra Magnus says, and he looks back up at him. "Alpha, your orders are to return to your room at the Academy and continue classes. Report to your advisor for your new schedule - we are speeding it up. Don't disappoint me."

Meaning that they're going to have to cram and study as hard as they can, and that something's going on, for Ultra Magnus to want him to graduate so quickly, and there _has_ to be time in there for them to just be together.

Alpha nods, accepting his orders...

"There is one more thing," Ultra Magnus says.

"Sir?"

"You will be required to stay merged as gestalt until you graduate."

A long pause as Alpha absorbs this.

"That's inadvisable," Perceptor says, and again Ultra Magnus raises a hand.

"We need to know if it's possible, and I need this unit ready for the guard."

"Sir," Alpha says, because panic is beginning to bloom in his spark. "I don't know if I can."

"You can and you will," Ultra Magnus says. "If you want to graduate."

"Understood," Alpha whispers, the weight of this order slowly settling onto him. Optimus, Sentinel - they can't come apart. They can't, not even for - they'll have to recharge together, dream together.

Ultra Magnus is speaking to Perceptor again, words static in Alpha's audials as he stares at his hands. Would it be okay if they came apart now? Got in a last kiss before they spent months together?

Except that they want to graduate, their - his ambitions are too great, and they won't be separated now, not for anything.

Ultra Magnus orders them to follow and they do, along with Perceptor, and Alpha stands with him on the lift, realizing now that he's taller than Ultra Magnus.

Not by much, he's not warbuild sized, but he's still - big.

He won't fit in the classrooms, he'll outsize most of the other students, and he _can't do this -_

"Alpha," Ultra Magnus says.

"Sir?"

"Accommodations have been made for you. Do not fail me."

"Sir."

That's all there is. Alpha straightens, staring straight ahead, steeling himself for what comes next.

//


End file.
